


Stay

by beckybrit



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Oral Sex, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:17:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckybrit/pseuds/beckybrit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s too dangerous.” Derek’s voice is low and gravelly. He’s on the cusp of fully shifting and Stiles can hear it as he speaks. “What do I have to do to make you stay?”</p>
<p>“Handcuff me to the bed?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for the Ankle/Wrist Restraint square on my kink bingo card. It's the fifth and final square. Yay!
> 
> Huge thanks to Fr333bird for making me write this and for fixing all my errors (particularly my love of italics and the many, many missing apostrophes).

“I said no, Stiles.”  
  
Derek glares, eyes flashing red but Stiles is not going to back down this time. This meeting is too important to the pack, and Stiles refuses to let Derek go alone -- even if he is going to meet with the leader of the Alpha pack.  
  
“Look,” Stiles continues, as if Derek wasn’t giving him the evil Alpha eyes. “They said you couldn’t bring any of your pack, but I’m not --”  
  
“You are.”  
  
“Not technically, since I’m not a wolf.”  
  
Derek growls, it’s a low rumbling sound. The sort of sound Derek makes when Stiles is being particularly stubborn and Derek would like nothing more than to pin him to the floor and bite him into submission. He stalks toward Stiles, slow and predatory, and Stiles instinctively backs up against the wall. He feels his dick twitch in his jeans but shrugs it off; it’s not the first time he’s got hard when Derek growls at him, and it won’t be the last.  
  
Derek grins and Stiles can see a hint of sharp, wolfy teeth peeking out. He places his hands on the wall, on either side of Stiles’ head and Stiles shivers as Derek leans in and buries his nose in the crook of Stiles’ neck.  
  
“You. Are. Pack.” Derek breathes in, humming in satisfaction as Stiles tilts his head to one side -- submitting to his alpha. It’s a calculated move on Stiles’ part. Derek gets easily distracted by Stiles’ scent, especially when he’s wearing eau d’arousal like he is now.  
  
Derek opens his mouth. His teeth latch on to Stiles’ throat but don’t break the skin. Stiles swallows and he can feel the tips of Derek’s canines as they press against him. “I know you think it’s too dangerous for me, and I get that you’re worried, I do. But this meeting has to go well Derek; we can’t afford another run-in with them.”  
  
Derek huffs out a breath but remains silent, so Stiles takes that as an invitation to continue. “We both know that the art of negotiation isn’t your forte. You need me there, Derek. Admit it.”  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
It’s not a ‘yes Stiles, you’re right, of course you can come’, but it’s not a ‘no’ this time either.  
  
Derek licks a stripe up the side of Stiles’ neck, nipping along the underside of his jaw until his mouth is right next to Stiles’ ear. “You’re not coming,” Derek whispers, his hot breath tickles and Stiles shudders.  
  
When Derek pushes his hips forward, the long, hard length of his cock presses into Stiles’ hip and Stiles moans. He feels Derek’s lips curve up at the edges and realizes that perhaps Derek can play the distraction game just as well as Stiles.  
  
“I know what you’re trying to do,” Stiles says, letting his head fall back onto the wall behind him. Derek hums and continues to nuzzle Stiles’ neck. “And as much as I appreciate the lengths you’re going to, to stop me from coming, it’s not going to work.”  
  
Stiles bites his lip as Derek crowds him with the whole of his body. Stiles can feel all that lean, hard muscle rippling under his hands as they automatically slide up and grip Derek’s back. “You can come,” Derek breathes, sucking at the top of Stiles’ shoulder until the blood rushes to the surface in a dark purple bruise, “any time you want.”  
  
Stiles is confused for a minute - Derek never gives in this easily - but then Derek’s warm hand palms Stiles’ cock through his sweats and Stiles gets it.  
  
“Oh, I see,” he says, pushing at Derek’s chest. “You made a sex joke. _Funny_.”  
  
Stiles shoves Derek a little harder, pissed that he’s making jokes when the well-being of the pack is at stake, and Derek steps back and lets his hands fall to his sides. “This is serious, Derek. I need to be there and I’m going with you whether you like it or not.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Derek’s nostrils flare, and Stiles knows he can smell the anger and frustration rolling off him in waves. “I’m not one of your wolves and you can’t tell me what to do!” Stiles hisses back. Derek visibly flinches at his words and Stiles feels a small stab of guilt prickle at his insides, but he brushes it aside.  
  
Derek growls again, eyes glowing red, and when he slams his hand onto the wall next to Stiles his claws scrape at the plaster. Stiles holds Derek’s gaze. It may be foolish to stare down an Alpha -- even one he loves with such fierce loyalty that it hurts sometimes -- but Stiles does it anyway.  
  
“It’s too dangerous.” Derek’s voice is low and gravelly. He’s on the cusp of fully shifting and Stiles can hear it as he speaks. “What do I have to do to make you stay?”  
  
“Handcuff me to the bed?” It’s meant to be a joke, Stiles’ poor attempt to lighten the heavy tension that’s settled between them. But something in Derek’s eyes makes Stiles tense.  
  
“Okay.” Derek grins, and Stiles has a second to register that he looks far too pleased with himself before Stiles’ world tilts and he finds himself roughly manhandled onto Derek’s bed.  
  
“What the hell?”  
  
Derek has Stiles’ hands pinned above his head, and he’s lying on top of him to hold him in place. Stiles struggles, but Derek is an immovable object and Stiles curses his traitorous body, because despite everything -- he’s still hard.  
  
“Erica?” Derek calls for his beta and Stiles cocks an eyebrow at him.  
  
“What? You’re gonna make her babysit me? For fuck’s sake Derek, I’m not some sort of...” He trails off as Erica walks into the room. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she smirks at the two of them, dangling a pair of handcuffs between her fingers. They’re lined with soft-looking, pink fur and Stiles shudders to think who they’ve been used on. “Dude, seriously?”  
  
Erica saunters over to the bed and Stiles tries in vain to squirm out of Derek’s grasp.  
  
“It was your idea,” Derek says, and Stiles is almost certain Derek’s laughing at him, even if it doesn’t show on his face. Derek changes his grip so that he can free one of Stiles’ hands, and takes the cuffs from Erica. Her eyes have an amber glow as she casts an appreciative glance over Stiles’ prone form, and asks Derek if he needs a hand with anything.  
  
“No.” Derek growls at her and she slinks back. “You can go now.”  
  
She disappears out of the room, pausing at the door to wink and wave at Stiles and he can hear her laugh all the way down the stairs. The snap of a cuff around his wrist pulls his attention back to Derek.  
  
“No! No way!” Derek fastens the other cuff to the iron rungs at the top of his bed and Stiles flails, tugging on it, but the cuffs are surprisingly heavy and well made. “Oh my God, Derek! You cannot handcuff me to the fucking bed!”  
  
Derek looks pointedly at Stiles’ wrist and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Fuck off! Obviously you _can_ , but you know what I mean. Let me go!” Stiles yanks on the cuff again and it rattles against the headboard. It doesn’t hurt exactly -- the fur is soft enough not to chafe -- but Stiles hates the feeling of being restrained. “ _Please_ , Derek.”  
  
Derek falters, his gaze flicking between Stiles’ wrist and his eyes. But then Derek looks away and Stiles knows he’s made his decision.  
  
Stiles lies there, desperately trying to come up with an escape plan. “What if something happens?” he snaps. “Like a …” He was going to say _fire_ , and almost bites his own tongue off in an effort to keep the word in. “Like an emergency.” He says instead.  
  
“Erica and Isaac are downstairs.”  Stiles perks up a little. Maybe when Derek’s gone, he can persuade one of them to...  “But they won’t help you.”  
  
Of course they won’t. Derek has probably used his position as alpha to ban them from aiding Stiles in any attempt to escape. Stiles glares, but says nothing. He doesn’t move a muscle to reciprocate as Derek leans forward and places a chaste kiss on his lips. “I’m sorry,” Derek whispers, and even though Stiles can tell he means it, it doesn’t do anything to diffuse Stiles’ temper. Derek runs his thumb along the softness of Stiles’ cheek. And then he’s gone.

******

  
Stiles waits. He realizes two minutes after Derek leaves, that his phone is downstairs, so he can’t even call Scott to come and set him free. He watches the clock at the side of Derek’s bed and lasts all of ten minutes before he’s shouting for Isaac and Erica.  
  
They appear in the doorway - Erica still amused at his predicament, and Isaac looking decidedly sheepish.  
  
“They suit you,” Erica says and licks her lips. “If it had been me, I would have cuffed both of your hands to the bed.” She takes a step towards him, but Isaac grabs her wrist and shakes his head.  
  
“Luckily for me, Derek isn’t anything like you.” Stiles shifts uncomfortably under her scrutiny.  
  
Erica smirks and eyes his cuffs again. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”  
  
She’s gone before Stiles can ask her what the fuck she means by that statement, leaving Isaac still standing there, watching Stiles with a wary expression.  
  
“I don’t suppose?” He lifts his shackled hand as far as it will go and shakes it.  
  
“You know I can’t.”  
  
Stiles rubs his uncuffed hand over his hair, the feel of it soothing and familiar. “Dammit, Isaac. I should be there with him.” He lets both hands drop onto the bed and sighs. “It’s all going to go horribly wrong and Derek won’t be able to talk his way out of it.” Isaac looks as worried as Stiles feels, and Stiles jumps on it. “You know I’m right, _please_ Isaac.”  
  
Isaac shakes his head and drops his eyes. Stiles flops back against the headboard in defeat.  
  
“It’s too dangerous Stiles.” Isaac shuffles his feet before looking back up, grim determination on his face.  “Derek knows what he’s doing -- you just need to trust him.”  
  
“I do, I...”  
  
Isaac stares at him, one eyebrow raised. “Really? Are you sure about that?”  
  
Stiles feels his cheeks flush. _Fuck._ “I just don’t want him to be there alone.”  
  
“I know.” Isaac now looks as miserable as Stiles feels. It must just as bad for him, Erica and...  
  
“Where’s Boyd?” Stiles suddenly realizes that he hasn’t seen him all day, and Derek didn’t mention that he’d be on babysitting duty. “He’s gone with Derek, hasn’t he?” Stiles feels the sharp stab of betrayal and Isaac whines.  
  
“No,” Isaac says quietly and comes to sit on the edge of the bed. “He’s close by, but “Derek doesn’t know. We thought...” Isaac takes a deep breath, hands fisting in the comforter with just a hint of claws. “We didn’t want him to go alone either.”  
  
They sit together in comfortable silence, until Stiles can’t bear it any longer and persuades Isaac to fetch his laptop that he left downstairs earlier. Isaac sets it up with one of Stiles’ movies, and then settles back beside him to watch and try and pass the time.  
  
The movie has been playing for about forty minutes, when Isaac jumps off the bed and Erica flies up the stairs and into the room.  
  
“What?” Stiles shouts. He goes to stand up, cursing loudly when he gets yanked back by the cuff. The wolves look at each other, both straining not to shift. “Fuck! It’s Derek, isn’t it? Is he injured?” Isaac nods and Stiles yanks hard on the restraint until it actually starts to hurt his arm. “You have to let me go. Now!”  
  
They hesitate, struggling to disobey Derek’s orders and Stiles throws his hand in the air. “Come _on_!”  
  
“He’s here,” Erica whispers.  
  
Stiles immediately looks to the door.  
  
“In Hale territory,” Isaac adds, and it’s one of those rare moments that Stiles wishes he’d taken the bite; wishes he could hear Derek’s heart and know how bad it is without having to rely on someone else to tell him.  
  
“How long?”  
  
“Two minutes.”  Erica reaches for Isaac’s hand and he pulls her close, nuzzling her neck. “Boyd’s with him, but he’s okay.”  
  
Stiles can feel the first signs of panic trying to claw their way out and he struggles to push it all down. He needs Derek here, needs him to be okay.  
  
“He’s healing.” Isaac senses Stiles’ growing anxiety and shuffles over to the bed with Erica clutched to his side. He reaches out to stroke Stiles’ neck, rubbing his thumb over Stiles’ pulse point and Stiles leans into his touch.  
  
It’s only minutes later when the front door crashes open, and Stiles holds his breath, not daring to let it out until he sees Derek for himself. It’s an agonizing wait, it seems like a lifetime passes to Stiles’ frazzled nerves, but finally Derek reaches the top of the stairs and appears in the doorway.  
  
“Jesus, Derek.” Stiles’ eyes rake over Derek’s body, and for once he doesn’t focus on the corded muscle or smooth skin. All he sees are the long jagged tears in his flesh, marring Derek’s chest under the bloodied mess of his shirt. “What the fuck happened?”  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
“Fine? Fine?” Stiles yells in utter disbelief. “That,” he gestures to Derek’s torn skin with his free hand, “is so very fucking far from _fine!”_  
  
 _“Stiles.”_ It’s Derek’s ‘ _I’m really tired Stiles, just leave it’_ voice and No. Just no. Stiles glares at Derek, unable to control his anger, clenching and unclenching his fists and Derek glares back.  
  
Isaac's pained whimper gets both of their attention, and Derek walks up to his betas, nuzzling them both before giving them a pointed look then motioning to the door. Isaac looks between Stiles and Derek, unsure whether to leave or not, but then Derek growls out a low warning and they disappear out of the door to join Boyd.  
  
“What happened?” Stiles repeats and Derek closes his eyes and sighs.  
  
“Can we not talk about it now?”  
  
“What this?” Stiles shakes his cuffed wrist, rattling the metal against the rungs. “How you handcuffed me to the fucking bed and then ran off alone and got yourself mauled?”  
  
“Yes, that.”  
  
Derek scrubs a hand over his face, he looks tired, and more weary than Stiles has seen him in a long while. His injuries have started to knit together, but it’s slower than normal, so Stiles knows they’re from one of the Alpha pack. The thought of Derek being there alone, being hurt while he was stuck here, has Stiles’ panic surging up inside him and he snaps.  
  
“For fuck’s sake Derek. You could have died!” He struggles to suck in air, his chest getting tighter and tighter. “They could have killed you and there’d be nothing anyone could do to help because you went off on your own.” His heart is hammering in his chest, and Stiles registers the worried look on Derek’s face but he can’t stop. “You left me, Derek. You fucking left me behind and I...I...”  
  
Derek closes the space between them, then puts his hands on Stiles’ neck, drawing him in tight to his chest. “Breathe.” He dips his head, resting it on Stiles’ shoulder and inhales deeply, letting it out slowly before inhaling again. “Breathe.”  
  
Stiles’ hand grips Derek’s forearm, clinging on for dear life as he desperately tries to calm down. “Their leader,”Derek explains, “she said they had _you_.” Derek starts to talk, and Stiles listens while concentrating on slowing his heart rate. “I knew she was lying...but the things she said.”  
  
“What happened?” Stiles asks for the third time, and finally Derek answers him.  
  
“I attacked her - we fought.”  
  
“They let you go?” Stiles is beginning to feel more like himself, and he can’t believe that the Alpha pack just let Derek go after he attacked their leader.  
  
“Boyd.” Derek says, like that explains everything.  
  
“He smoothed things over.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Stiles doesn’t have the energy to feel anything other than relieved that Derek is back more or less in one piece. He wraps his free arm around Derek’s back and gets as close as he can, but pulls back straightaway when Derek hisses in pain. “Shit, sorry!” Stiles jerks away, the metal cuff rattles against the bed as he tries to get as far from Derek’s wounds as possible.  
  
“Stiles,” Derek breathes, holding him firm. “It’s okay, just... be careful.”  He tilts Stiles’ chin up with the tip of his finger and kisses him softly. It starts off relatively chaste -- just the brushing of lips against lips -- but Stiles feels the familiar rush of heat coursing through his veins and he moans.    
  
Derek licks into his mouth, pushes him back onto the bed and climbs on top of him. Stiles’ hand is up by his head now, and Derek trails a finger -- claws out now-- along the inside of Stiles’ arm until he reaches the pink, furry cuff.  
  
“Tickles.” Stiles laughs and wriggles away from Derek’s touch.  
  
“Hmm...” Derek circles Stiles’ wrist, stroking the skin underneath the fur with the tip of his claws. “I should take this off you.”  
  
“Yes, you should.” Stiles watches Derek as he plays with the handcuff. He seems fascinated with it, tracing the edges again and again. Although Stiles hated being restrained earlier, hated being forced to stay put against his will, the look on Derek’s face is having the opposite effect on him now.  
  
Derek shifts slightly, sitting back on his heels so that he’s now straddling Stiles. His eyes are still glued to where Stiles’ hand is fastened to the top of the bed, and Stiles’ cock twitches as he recognizes the expression on Derek’s face. It’s not obvious to the casual observer, but to Stiles -- who’s pretty much analyzed and catalogued all of Derek’s facial expressions -- it’s as clear as day. Derek likes it. He likes the way that Stiles is helpless beneath him, and for once _has_ to do what Derek wants him to.  
  
Derek’s eyes snap up to Stiles’ face, no doubt smelling the arousal on him as Stiles’ dick starts to swell in his pants.  
  
“Stiles?”  
  
“Leave them on.” Stiles raises his other arm up and grips one of the rungs of the bed. “Both wrists.” He raises an eyebrow at Derek, and Derek smirks.   
  
Without taking his eyes off Stiles, Derek reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a small metal key.  
  
“Seriously? That’s where you kept it?” Stiles asks incredulously. “Dude, what if you’d lost it?”  
  
“Erica has one too.” Derek looks unconcerned. “Besides, either she or Isaac could have broken them off you.”  
  
Oh, yeah. That would make sense.  
  
Stiles doesn’t get the chance to ponder that further, because Derek has made quick work of handcuffing both of Stiles wrists to the bed and is now staring at him like he wants to eat him - totally in a good way.  
  
  
Stiles squirms under him and Derek places a firm hand on his belly, stilling his movement. Derek strokes the taut skin. Stiles’ muscles are hardened and toned from training with the betas. It’s not in the same league as Derek’s stomach -- which Stiles thinks is unfairly perfect -- but he no longer feels embarrassed when Derek undresses him.  
  
Stiles aches for Derek’s hand to go lower, but Derek is sat astride his thighs and he can’t move. “Derek...”  
  
Derek’s eyes flash red again at the neediness in Stiles’ voice and he growls. It always turns Stiles on when Derek gets all possessive, and Derek knows it. He shoves Stiles’ shirt up and out of the way and leans down to lick and bite at the exposed skin, working his way up to Stiles’ nipples. He sucks them into his mouth, one after the other, running his tongue over the sensitive flesh and grinning as Stiles arches his back and cries out. “ _Please_ , Derek...”  
  
“Tell me.” Derek sits back and toys with the waistband of Stiles’ sweat pants. He slides a finger underneath and skims the trail of hair leading down to Stiles’ cock. “What do you need?”  
  
“I need you to touch me... _oh God_...” Stiles shuts his eyes tight and groans as Derek’s fingers brush the head of his dick. “Fuck...I swear to God Derek, you need to touch me right now or I’m going to --”  
  
Derek shuffles back a bit, pulling Stiles’ boxers and sweatpants off in one smooth movement and wraps a hand around him.  
  
“Yes...that’s...yes.”  
  
Derek runs his thumb through the pre-come already leaking out, using it to slick Stiles up a bit. He slides his hand lazily up and down Stiles’ length, and Stiles writhes below him muttering about how good it feels and _harder, Derek, harder_.  
  
Stiles opens his eyes. He wants to see what Derek’s doing, even if he can’t touch him like he normally would. He watches, loving the way that Derek still looks at him with an expression verging on awe - like sometimes Derek can’t quite believe that he gets to have _this_. Which Stiles thinks is totally crazy because Derek epitomises hotness and Stiles is forever wondering why Derek picked _him_.  
  
Stiles’ breath catches as Derek lowers his head and takes him in his hot, wet mouth. Derek never breaks eye-contact, and Stiles tries to recall all the horrible creatures that they’ve encountered recently in an effort not to come.    
  
Derek’s hands are now either side of Stiles’ hips, holding him still while Derek works him over with his tongue. Stiles pulls on the cuffs. He wants to bury his hands in Derek’s hair and fuck into his throat, but he can’t. Derek senses Stiles’ frustration and hums around him; he rubs his thumbs in soft circles over the jut of Stiles’ hips and sucks him so deep that Stiles no longer cares about anything other than coming.  
  
His whole body shudders, back arching off the bed as he spills onto Derek’s tongue. Derek swallows it down, lapping at Stiles’ cock until there’s nothing left.  
  
“Fuck, Derek...stop...stop.”  
  
Derek pulls back, licking the last drops of Stiles’ come from his lips, and Stiles’ eyes are drawn to the bulge in Derek’s jeans where he’s hard and straining against the material.  
  
“I need to touch you.” Stiles tugs on the cuffs again and looks up at Derek. “Uncuff me.”  
  
“No.” Derek kneels up, palming the outline of his dick and Stiles whines in protest.  
  
“Derek...”  
  
“I like you like this.” Derek slowly removes his belt, throwing it onto the floor before undoing the button on his jeans and lowering the zip. “I like that for once, you have to do as I say.” Stiles huffs, but Derek just smirks as he eases his boxers down and lets his cock spring free. “And that you can’t defy me at every possible opportunity.”  
  
“I can still talk though,” Stiles grins back. “You can’t stop me doing that.”  
  
Derek raises a disbelieving eyebrow, as if Stiles has just issued him a ridiculously easy challenge. He shuffles forward, hands braced against the metal headboard and it’s Stiles’ turn to smirk as Derek’s cock is suddenly right in front of his face.  
  
“Well, you could shut me up like that,” Stiles says, his mouth running away from him as he focuses on Derek’s dick. “Yeah...that would definitely work. It’s bad manners to talk with your mouth full.”  
  
“Stiles.” Derek holds his cock with one hand, leaning in to run the tip along Stiles’ bottom lip. It leaves a smear of pre-come in its wake and Stiles’ tongue darts out to catch it. Derek hisses and moves back in so Stiles can lick at the head.  
  
He pushes forward, gently nudging Stiles’ lips apart and sliding into his mouth. Stiles open up greedily, wanting to feel Derek fill him up until he chokes, but Derek only goes in halfway. He teases Stiles with shallow thrusts, drawing back when Stiles tries to suck more of him in.  
  
Derek lets Stiles have his cock for a few more thrusts, then ignores Stiles’ curses as he scoots back to straddle Stiles’ hips again. He holds Stiles’ t-shirt out of the way with one hand, the other fisting his own cock and Derek throws his head back, teeth bared as he comes over Stiles’ belly in long, thick stripes.  
  
“Fuck...” Stiles whispers, and drops his head back onto Derek’s pillow.  
  
Derek grunts his agreement and reaches up to finally undo both of the cuffs around Stiles’ wrists. He strokes Stiles’ arms, massaging them gently all the way down to his wrists.  
  
“They’re fine.” Stiles stretches up, flexing his fingers, before running his hands through Derek’s hair like he’s wanted to ever since Derek got back.  
  
Derek leans into his touch, growling with satisfaction as he runs his fingers through the drying come on Stiles’ stomach. He smears it around, rubbing it into Stiles’ skin.  
  
“Ugh, dude!” Stiles pulls a face. “Do you have to do that? It’ll be a bitch to get off now.”  
  
Derek shrugs and carries on. “You’ll smell like me for longer this way,” he says, as if that’s a perfectly valid reason for doing it. Stiles sighs and accepts that in Derek’s world it probably is.  
  
The End.


End file.
